


A Very Lucky Man

by littlebun416



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 09:41:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5159054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlebun416/pseuds/littlebun416
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John cannot stop thinking about what Jeanette had said. Maybe she was right.</p>
<p>A little Christmas fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Very Lucky Man

**Author's Note:**

> This is not only my first post ever, it is literally the first story I have ever written. Un-betad, so apologies for any grammar or spelling errors, or just general wordy awkwardness. Also not Brit-picked.  
> I welcome constructive criticism! As a first time writer I'd like to be aware of what needs work.  
> There may be more added to this later, not so much a chaptered story as a possible continuation.  
> Thank you for reading. Hope you enjoy!

“Sherlock Holmes is a very lucky man.”

John could not silence the ringing echo of Jeanette’s words even long after she had gone. He felt no disappointment at ruining his relationship (and holiday) with her, only regret that he had obviously hurt Jeanette. It was not that he cared much for her, he barely knew her, but that was the type of man John Watson was – kind and caring, even to those he barely knew. His selfless spirit was the mirror opposite of Sherlock’s. Perhaps that was why they got on so well. Opposites attract, and all that.

Funny that his brain had chosen those particular words. They weren’t words one would normally choose to refer to oneself and one’s flat mate. However, there was a little nagging thought in the back of his mind that told him that he had picked exactly the right words that he had wanted to.

Why did it not bother him more that Jeanette had gone? He was almost relieved, even. It just didn’t feel right to be out with Jeanette on Christmas Eve when Sherlock was home alone. He simply wanted to be there for him, is all. Make sure he didn’t fall into one of his moods. He tried to chalk it up to the fact that was worried about Sherlock and the recent developments involving The Woman. 

He sat there and tried to convince himself of this and other excuses, but Jeanette’s voice calling Sherlock his boyfriend kept echoing in his mind. She had been wrong, though. Sherlock was not his boyfriend. Right? Was the idea really that peculiar, though? He and Sherlock were basically a couple in every nature but sexual.

That train of thought gave him pause. Surprisingly the idea of that didn’t shock him as he had expected it to. In fact, as he thought about the vague notion of it all he found himself a little more than curious. Sherlock was an undeniably beautiful man – almost feminine in appearance, with harsh angles and planes hidden beneath an upturned collar and soft curls. Perhaps that duality is what attracted him to Sherlock in the first place, even just subconsciously. He was graceful and strong, with a lithe body that just oozed confidence. His demeanor was off-putting to those who didn’t know him well enough. So many thought him harsh and uncaring. They had not seen him as John had, in those fleeting moments where the mask fell and gentle kindness seeped through. Sherlock loved. Maybe not in the way a normal man would love, then again nothing about Sherlock was normal.

John’s relationship with the man, and in fact his very life, was so far from normal, but he could not in fact imagine being happy any other way. Perhaps Jeanette had been on to something. He loved his life with Sherlock – he wouldn’t want to spend it with anyone else. Until now he had thought it was just the course of his life that he had loved, but maybe it had more to do with the man he shared it all with than he had previously understood.

As he sat in his thought, the back of his mind registered the familiar measured steps of his flat mate ascending the stairs. He felt his heartbeat quicken in excitement as the thought struck him with a sharp intake of breath that he indeed wanted to be with Sherlock. As said man reached the top of the stairs, he paused to fix John with a tilt of his head and a calculating stare, as if he were trying to solve a very difficult puzzle.

John froze with the sudden, inexplicable fear that Sherlock could read what was in his mind. There was an underlying tension between them that John had never felt before, whether Sherlock felt it too or it was just in John’s own mind, he was not sure. He felt the oncoming of an uncomfortable silence, and stood suddenly with the intention of offering to make a cup of tea – his default action for calming himself. He cleared his throat. 

“Right. Tea?” 

As he turned toward the kitchen, a soft, “John” rumbled from Sherlock’s chest.

He turned and stood, frozen by the uncharacteristic hesitation in Sherlock’s countenance. When had he ever seen Sherlock hesitate before, in anything? He could not think of a single time. But Sherlock’s eyes were steady and dark, looking at John. They were standing so close, close enough that John could feel the body heat from the man in front of him. Sherlock’s eyes flitted upward, just for a split second, to the doorframe above where they stood. As John’s eyes trailed upward, his mind slowly registered the sprig of mistletoe that was hung there. He did not understand why Sherlock was bringing it to his attention. Suddenly, he felt Sherlock close to him and warm, soft lips brushed lightly against his cheek. 

“Merry Christmas, John”, he mumbled into John’s ear, in a deep timbre that he swore he could feel in his chest.

As quickly as the whole moment had happened, it was over. Sherlock walked across the room to his violin and said, “Tea would be lovely” in such a nonchalant voice that John was not even sure if the whole moment had even happened. If it weren’t for the buzzing in his mind and the tingling in the tips of his fingers he would have thought it hadn’t.

The soft vibrato of the violin started John out of his stunned state. Starting toward the kitchen, he tried to let his mind process what had just transpired, while letting his hands mindlessly work. He had never seen that side of Sherlock, never seen anything quite so intimate. 

What did he mean by it, anyway? Sherlock didn’t express himself like a normal person, maybe it meant nothing at all to him. It had certainly meant something to John, though. He ran through the possibilities of what to do next – doing nothing was an option. See if Sherlock said or did anything more. But Captain John Watson is a man of action. He did not like to sit idly by and leave things in an incomplete state, so to speak. So what about action, then? Just march right on up and kiss him. Only there were a number of ways this plan could go wrong, particularly with Sherlock. Again, he was not a normal person. Talking, then. Ask him outright what he meant by it. One has to be direct with Sherlock; he might unintentionally (or intentionally) misunderstand what you are implying if you don’t speak frankly. 

Talking seemed like the only viable option. He did not dwell too long on the particular words he was going to say, John had always been good at acting in the moment, a skill that was refined by his time in the service. 

As he finished preparing the tea, he moved into the living room and placed Sherlock’s on the table in front of where he stood, still playing his instrument. John sat in his usual chair and sipped his tea.

He watched contentedly as Sherlock played, sometimes low and melodic and other times suddenly jumping into a more lively and quick tempo-ed arrangement. He did not recognize the melodies; he suspected it was being composed by Sherlock as he played.

By the time Sherlock had put down his violin, his tea had gone cold. He did not even seem to be aware that it was there, and knowing him, he probably had deleted the fact that he had asked for it immediately after the action occurred. The fire crackled and sparked in the space between them. Now or never, John supposed.

“So what was that, then?” he tried to keep his voice as neutral as possible. 

“What was what?” Sherlock replied evenly, unreadable.

He hesitated for a moment. “That. In the doorway. The, um. The kiss.”

For a few moments there was no sound from either man. Sherlock did not move and John did not waiver. He was just beginning to regret ever opening his mouth when there came a soft reply. He almost didn’t realize that Sherlock had spoken, so quiet and unexpected were the words.

“I care for you, John.”

He sat stock still for a moment. “I thought the Holmes boys didn’t succumb to human emotion. ‘Caring is not an advantage.’ Isn’t that right?”

“It is not an advantage. In fact, it is a hindrance. Most inconvenient.” Had anyone else said this to him he might have taken offence. He huffed out a laugh instead. He was used to not reading too deeply into Sherlock’s remarks. He often said things he did not mean in order to distance himself from others. Allowing too many people to see the truth, that Sherlock Holmes was indeed capable of sentiment, was dangerous. Sherlock had enemies. They had not forgotten the pool incident, after all.

Sherlock ducked his head to hide the smirk John knew was there. 

“Really, though, Sherlock, was this just another one of your experiments or something. ‘Kiss John and see how he reacts’ type of thing.”

The look on Sherlock’s face could have almost been classified as puzzled, but it was so foreign an expression on him that John wasn’t quite sure.

“It was not an experiment.” He finally said. “And frankly if it were, I would not have been so lax in conducting it. That was hardly an experiment-worthy kiss. It would have accomplished nothing.” 

John quirked an eyebrow. How far could he push this particular conversation before Sherlock scurried away from it?

“What does an ‘experiment-worthy kiss’ look like, then?” he goaded.

“That depends entirely on the impetus of the experiment, John.” He huffed, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.

John let out an amused “hm” in response, and added, “What sort of experiments would you even be conducting that would require you to kiss me?”

“How should I know, John, you’re the one who suggested the ridiculous idea in the first place.” He threw himself back into his seat, letting his head fall back like a querulous child.

John chuckled, which caused Sherlock to throw an irritated glance in his direction. His face softened as John continued to chuckle, until he was contorting his face, trying to hold in his own laughter from escaping.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” John laughed out.

As the laughter died out, both men looked fondly at each other. John cast his glance downward. 

“Sherlock?”

“Yes, John?”

“Did you really mean anything by it?”

Sherlock was uncharacteristically silent for several long seconds. John wondered at his hesitation for the second time that night.

“As I said, I care for you.” He looked intently at John, as though he were willing him to understand some unspoken thoughts. “I don’t care for many people, John. I  
-” he paused, trying to collect his thoughts, and let out a breath in a whoosh of air. John could see the struggle going on in his mind to convey in the correct manner the things he was feeling. This was entirely new territory for Sherlock. He ducked his head and continued. “You mean a great deal to me and I want you to understand how much I appreciate you. I know sometimes I can seem to take advantage of your companionship, but you must know that it is the most important thing in the world to me.” He peeked up at John through lowered lashes.

It struck John then how utterly beautiful Sherlock is. Here, in this exposed form, practically laying out his heart for John and he’d be damned if he didn’t take it.

“Sherlock, I killed a man for you, almost immediately after we had met. If that doesn’t get across how much I love you then hell knows what will.”

As soon as the words were out of John’s mouth, he froze, looking in shock at the man across from him. He willed with all of his might for Sherlock to just gloss over the fact that he had just flippantly professed his love for the man. But it seemed luck was not on John’s side in that moment, because Sherlock was just gaping, wide eyed at him.

The silence bore down on them so thickly that it was almost palpable. It felt as though an hour passed before either of them moved. John was mere seconds away from bolting to the safety of his bedroom when Sherlock suddenly started.

He looked around, searching, as if the contents of the room would help him to process the words better. He cleared his throat, and then again. 

“Likewise.”

John sputtered. “‘Likewise?’ ‘Likewise’, Sherlock? Really?” He began to laugh, out of relief and happiness and the clearing of the tension in the room. It was not long before Sherlock was throwing his head back and releasing his own pure and bright laughter. 

John practically rolled out of his chair and thrust himself onto Sherlock’s lap as their laughter turned breathless. He threw his arms around the man’s neck and looked down into his eyes, which were crinkled with happiness. He pressed their smiling lips together in and pulled back to whisper, “Sherlock, from day one you’ve had me.”

Sherlock smiled wide and reached up to kiss John, placing his hand firmly on the back of the other man’s neck to hold him in place. He licked at the seam of John’s mouth, to which John hummed his approval and responded with entwining his own tongue with Sherlock’s. The kiss left both men breathless as they pulled pack, resting their foreheads together.

“That is what an experiment-worthy kiss looks like.” Sherlock smirked, a playful glint in his eye. John simply laughed and ducked in for another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Again, this is my first piece of writing ever. I've never written a short story before, so please leave comments if you enjoyed it or if you think there is an area that needs work. In particular I'm most unsure of the pace of the whole thing, so please comment with any thoughts.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
